Pathfinder, page 3
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9. A decision that I’m making up for here, I readily admit.
10. After consulting the text, I ultimately took no action here, in part because I believe it would then require me, out of fairness, to warn each god mentioned in the prophecies, and there are some in the list who I would much rather keep at wings’ length.
Chapter Five
The Death of Erastil
One interesting line of thought that I have yet to formally consider goes beyond the question of whether these “prophecies” should be considered equally as a whole to whether the whole of each of them should be equally considered.11 If, for example, I dismiss the effects of a particular god’s supposed death, does this mean that I am dismissing their prophesied death altogether? Does every part of a prophecy have to come true for it to be considered prophetic? If the vast majority proves true, what is wrong could be an error of translation, interpretation, or prophetic understanding. On the other hand, if most of a prophecy is false, what is accurate is likely a lucky guess. The Windsong Corollaries never reach this sort of sentence-level consideration (a gap that I might perhaps publish a small paper in when my Lady does not need me,12 so long as I keep things strictly theoretical). I expect a reading of Beyond Aroden: Failed Foretelling in the Age of Prophecy is in short order to establish a bit of a baseline, but it will be up to my Lady (with my assistance, I hope!) to determine what level of possibility and accuracy any of these must have to be fully considered a work of prophecy.
–Yivali, Apprentice Researcher for the Lady of Graves
Erastil runs. Gallops really. Hoof over hoof, his antlers gleaming, bounding over shallow stream and whirling under tree branch, his body flying forward in a streak of joyous motion. He cannot always be the stag, but there are times he needs to run and feel the wind across his legs, familiar as the dawn but as new as any sunrise. He runs until he’s just past tired and ready for a drink of water, shaking leaves from antlers in a spray of autumn colors and transforming back into the form his followers are used to—horned head and wiry body of an age-old master hunter.
But he is not the only age-old creature resting in this wood. Something emerges, slowly, from a refuge it has tired of, assorted sharp and fleshy parts dragging its pouch of hunger up from somewhere down below. Even Erastil’s well-trained eyes do not quite see it slowly crawling, clawing onto haunch and belly, drawing closer to the god and waiting for the perfect moment. Not until the instant that it rises up to strike.
Erastil runs. Scrambles really. Step after step, bow at the ready, preparing even as he flees, trampling through a clutch of bushes, plunging through the river’s cold, trying to stay ahead until he whirls around to face what hunts him, show it that he’s unafraid. But there are things that even Old Deadeye has no defense against. And when that something catches him, its jaw wide and devouring, it turns what once was hunting god to nothing more than helpless prey, only stopping its ravaging to marvel at the flavor. There’s something here it’s never savored, in between the crunch and squelch—divinely filling in a way that it has never known before and now can never be without. Once it has consumed its meal and all that’s left is bits of bone, it scents the air and twists its body, reveling in the aftertaste of something past mortality, and lurches through the undergrowth to find another morsel.
Followers of Erastil who felt his blessings fade track his remaining footprints to the place he fought and fell. (There’s luck in that, or Jaidi’s hand, steady despite a widow’s grief, putting firm hands against their backs until they find whatever place his hint of dust remains.) A hunt is called, a holy ride, in honor of the fallen god, to track and take whatever beast has left their altars bare. But all they find across their path are other grieving worshippers whose gods (most small in name and reach, their purpose only known by handfuls) now are merely carcasses, devoured by some wretched beast that no one ever glimpses. The Hunters offer shelter and a purpose to these wanderers, and some find comfort in the endless chase across the Great Beyond, even as they never seem to find the subject of their search. Whatever killed Erastil, whatever hunts the other gods, is always hidden from their view, is always one quick turn away, is always adding to the trail of carnage just ahead.
The gods take notice of the beast, each readying their own defense. Some draw together, forming pacts and promising to shield each other—the radiance of the Dawnflower reaches the realm of the Midnight Lord, Norgorber and Iomedae draw swords with Cayden Cailean, the half-abandoned Summerlands fill up with frightened deities—but others use the moment as the perfect time to strike. Gorum13 turns on the cowardly and sharpens blades against their backs, Asmodeus carves clauses into those he has a contract with, Calistria builds safety from the ashes of revenge. Pantheons rise and fall and splinter in the shadow of the beast, endlessly repositioning even when it has gone to ground, its hunger sated only briefly every new time that it feeds.
Among the mortals, fear takes root as one god or another falls, and those who live are sometimes absent, too caught up in safety to give followers their strength. Some flourish in these absences that gods might once have kept in check, selling hope or cruelty as counters to divinity, creating order from the chaos any way they can. And when the gods grow used to fear and venture back into the world (beast still lurking in the corners, drooling at the prey), some find their temples turned to rubble, dusty from years of disuse, or built over to some new purpose they can barely recognize, and must now find a new path in a half-godless Golarion, even as something in the shadows starts to hunt.
Much as I found it distasteful to read about, I wish this supposed prophecy had gone into greater detail about this “beast” with what I suppose is a taste for divine flesh (a prospect I can barely conceive of, let alone comment on!). While I did attempt to use my rudimentary artistic talents to create some sort of sketch, even my best guess at the appearance of this beast has fallen quite short, as it matches nothing I am currently aware of. Either my skills are not up to the task, the prophecy has purposefully been vague, or this beast has never been seen before. If the latter, this is yet another reason to doubt this prophecy in particular. Anything this powerful would surely be noted in someone’s annals. Beyond that, though, the breakdown of the gods noted here seems very unlikely. In both my studies and experiences of the gods, I have found them to be quite devoted to those who worship them (each in their own way, of course), even when to their own detriment. No matter how horrible the threat, I do not believe mortals would be abandoned in this way, nor that they would abandon their gods in return.14 Or, at least, I do not wish to believe it. Best, I think, to move on to some new, and hopefully less troubling, prophecy.
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11. A downside of going back to consider one’s own work is that it’s easy to spot your foibles and frailties, including my brief obsession with the turn of phrase known as the tongue twister. Luckily, it was only a momentary fascination (and a fascinating motivation), and I have since put it behind me.
12. That “small paper” has grown into what will one day be a multi-volume treatise with a somewhat disturbingly long section on serial commas, but as it’s something that I primarily work on in my spare time when not investigating something for my Lady, I have not the slightest idea when I might be done.
13. As this is the only mention of Gorum within the prophecies, I feel a need to note it here, but I still do not have any idea as to what this fact might mean. I’ve attempted several word count and placement analyses to make some sense of it (despite lacking true prowess in that area of research) but have concluded that ultimately a single point of data was never going to be enough to draw a satisfactory line.
14. I wonder, now, on re-reading my older analyses (an odd sensation, that, as if I were spying on my past self, though it’s one that I’ve resigned myself to in creating this new work) if the sense of abandonment found in many of these prophecies is Nivei’s own. It’s easy to think of prophecy as springing to life fully-formed, but perhaps the interactions between the individual and their foretellings has more weight than previously considered.
A Violent Reckoning
Perhaps surprisingly (and, in truth, somewhat embarrassingly), I didn’t fully consider just how the author’s journey through the world impacted their writing of the Godsrain Prophecies, despite being aware of the many far-flung locales where their writings have been recovered. Maybe knowing Nivei’s name, or that they had a family, or how their glimpses of the future affected the course of their life, has given me a broader understanding. Or perhaps rereading these prophecies numerous times has given me the distance from my initial reaction to think less personally about their impact. It is said that scholars mature over time in the way they think about their subject matter, and while I’m unsure if this is a byproduct of maturity, I keep finding myself drawn to these middle prophecies, which have always felt as if they took a turn toward the violent. Was Nivei similarly under siege? While there’s no way to know exactly, the prophecies of Urgathoa and Erastil were both found in places known to be perilous—Urgathoa’s scrawled on a piece of paper with a pen made of bone, recovered from a besieged campsite in the Gravelands, and Erastil’s nailed to a tree in the Fangwood. And yet the greatest evidence of all comes from Nivei’s own writing. While I couldn’t be sure of it until this new letter addressed to “El” was discovered, I’ve long wondered at the words found carved into the Fangwood trees in an area near where Erastil’s prophecy was found, alongside a rough sketch of what might have been a beast: “Why have they picked me for their torment, El? When can I be free?”
Chapter Six
The Death of Nethys
As I continue reading through the Godsrain “prophecies,” I have begun to develop a troubling new theory about their origin. I will admit up front that this idea may seem more in line with one of those Another Absalom tales of spies and skullduggery than a scholarly review (though I have always believed that those tales should be studied for their ability to keep the reader’s attention, something we researchers often do not do as successfully as we would like!), but I’ve noticed that several of the prophecies seem to strike at the core of what many think about the divine. This is not to say that gods cannot die, or falter, or fail in some way, but the more I read these documents, the more I can imagine negative outcomes that I might once have dismissed as distant possibilities. What if this is deliberate?
Perhaps the author of these works is no prophet at all, but someone who seeks to weaken what we understand of divinity.15 I am not certain who or what would seek that as an outcome, but any entity that benefits from faltering faith is one that cannot have the best interests of Golarion at heart. Still, if I am being candid, the thought of some mysterious villain appeals to me more than it probably should. Perhaps I simply wish to find a reason for these prophecies outside of any potential truth I might find in their pages. Or perhaps I have stumbled onto a workable theory. I will note the thought, but only as one of many I might bring to my Lady. False comfort can too often be found within visions of conspiracy.
–Yivali, Apprentice Researcher for the Lady of Graves
Mind. Matter. Spirit. Life. Four essences. Four building blocks. Four cornerstones whose intersections shape the way that magic works. And in that four, two pairs that are too different to be joined together. Matter never blends with Spirit; Mind and Life remain apart. Nethys knows the truth of this, but never quite believes it fully. (Is he not the proof that there is power in duality?)
As the centuries progress, he keeps returning to this quandary, tells himself that he alone can meld the two opposing pairs. He can be the font of knowledge. He can give the world new magic. He can take the contradictions, put them through a transformation. He can start two new traditions. Mind and Body. Heart and Soul.
Does he succeed? Perhaps he does. Perhaps he stands awash with pride, his fingers trembling at the feeling, ready to share something of the magic he has wrought. But if he feels triumphant, it is only for a moment—a breath of jubilation as he soaks himself in magic, followed by a cry of horror as his body falls apart. Nethys, by sheer will and power, holds himself together briefly, fractures crawling down his arms, breaking him to pieces like a chunk of splintered glass. He remains alive just long enough to see the power of his folly, spreading from his fingers to the very building blocks of magic, tearing them asunder as his body turns to ash.
In an instant, magic changes—bends and rips and stretches thin, settling like a shredded cloth pulled tight across the world. Where it is torn, all magic ceases. Long-held items lose their power. Spells are nothing more than words. Spellcasters within these hollows lose all tether to their magic, even if they only cross the boundary in the aftermath. Some regain their skills with time, but others never quite recover, every magic word they utter turned to dust between their lips. Some don’t even make it that far, dying when the magic ends, falling from the skies above, losing shields that keep them safe, gulping down a healing potion turned to flavored water.
At first, the new uncertainty inspires mass devotion, but there is little solace offered by the other gods. Pharasma asks for a report. Irori swears to make it right. But still their followers cannot cast a spell within the hollows. And those who lose the taste for magic, prayers dying in their mouth? They do not seem to gain a thing from all their dedication, left nearly hollowed-out themselves as they wander the land.
For those who never cared for magic, hollows are a place of refuge, leveling the playing field in favor of the fist and sword. And several flock who follow Nethys, loyal to his knowledge still, believing this to be some test that leads them to a new reward.
Many on Golarion relocate from their hollowed homes, fearing what it means to lose the magic in their lives. But travel is no easy thing, not even with the scouts and maps and herbal kits (now free of magical augmentations) that have become requirements for any trip outside. Travel is a danger now, as places full of hidden dangers lurk throughout the Great Beyond: cities where the magic varies, strong one day and weak the next, turning one night’s cantrip to the morning’s deadly strike; villages consumed by all the magic stolen from the world, drowning in a power they have no way to unmake.
Magic has never been among my preferred subjects to study, but I now wish I’d learned more of it! It would help me to properly evaluate what, if anything, within this prophecy is truly feasible. Could one death (even the death of a god) create this level of chaos within such a fundamental part of life? This prophecy seems to indicate that magic is forever changed by Nethys’s actions, but even a disaster of the magnitude described seems unlikely to change fundamental principles of magic (a statement I would be much more convinced of were I sure that I fully understood them). While I doubt that this prophecy would come true, I am now curious if there are any projects that Nethys has undertaken that might lead to his attempting something on this scale. Perhaps I judged too quickly, and these prophecies are less dastardly plot than desperate warning? I need more information to be sure.16
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15. I now feel certain that my suppositions on the author of the prophecies and their motivations both is and isn’t correct. If Nivei is indeed the author of the prophecies, they had no respect for divinity to begin with, and being forced around the world to understand foretellings about gods you do not care for cannot have made them more inclined toward a generous impression. While I don’t think they lied or invented in any way, I wonder at times about their presentation of what they believed to be the truth of what was to come.
16. Having now some of the information that I sought, I do not know that it has clarified things as much as I might have hoped. At best, it has simply opened up a whole new round of questions. I’m reminded of the rumors of the newly popular Inquisitive Method of Research, in which no questions are ever answered—the hope is that by simply exhausting them all, true insight will be found.
Chapter Seven
The Death of Zon-Kuthon
Something that I have been mulling over for some time (but have yet to mention in these annotations) is the naming of the Godsrain Prophecies.17 By the time I first heard of them, they had already been given that title, but nothing I have read so far has given me any clear indication as to how or why. Personally, I would never presume to name a collection of this potential impact and importance without a very clear reason, lest I end up in a repeat of the Fatal Four disaster. (To think that one scribe’s decision to include a bit of wordplay in their recounting of a minor historical prophecy would lead to not one but two assassinations is truly beyond the pale!) Issues like this are the reason that Lorminos insisted I read Notorious Names and Narrative Novelties: Navigating the Nuance of Nomenclature early on in my studies (a book that could easily have been one hundred and fifty pages instead of over seven hundred, in my personal opinion). While I must make reading these prophecies a priority, I will also endeavor to track down the origin of the word Godsrain. For one thing, it is possible there was a mistaken transcription somewhere along the line. Perhaps they should instead be known as the God’s Reign Prophecies, alluding to the end of a specific god’s reign? It is something to at least consider.
